


Breaking The Ice

by echoist



Category: Primeval
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Headcanon, M/M, Season/Series 04, holiday fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-24
Updated: 2013-05-24
Packaged: 2017-12-12 21:24:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/816214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/echoist/pseuds/echoist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their first kiss is mostly an accident.</p><p>The second time <i>really</i> isn't Becker's fault.</p><p>((Prompt Fill for lostinthechaos))</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breaking The Ice

 

Their first kiss is mostly an accident.

Connor comes barreling down the hallway, carrying an armload of parts and components stacked too high to properly see and crashes straight into Becker as he makes the corner. Plastic and metallic bits fly everywhere, ricocheting off the reinforced walls. Becker stoops to help collect them with a long-suffering sigh, striking his head solidly against Connor's in the process.

“Ow,' Connor complains, rubbing his head, and Becker looks up sharply, an apology on his lips as they bump straight into Connor's and stick there, clinging just for a moment. A moment entirely too long. Becker backs away hastily, clumsily, clambering back to his feet before swallowing around the lump in his throat.

'All right,' he says, carefully evening out his tone. 'Where's all this lot supposed to go, then?'

'My office,' Connor answers, still knelt down on the floor, looking up at Becker curiously.

'Well,' Becker says, motioning down the corridor with a tilt of his head. “Get a move on, then. Can't keep genius waiting, I suppose.' The sarcasm in his voice isn't lost on Connor, who stumbles a bit, picking himself and the motley collection of gear off the floor and following Becker down the corridor.

When they reach his office, Becker stares around the cluttered room in confusion. He can't decide if it looks like a mad scientist's rubbish bin or the playroom of a toddler assembling a warp drive out of Legos. 'And just where exactly am I supposed to put it all?' he asks, looking back over his shoulder at Connor.

'I dunno,' Connor mutters with a shrug, losing some sort of spiralling metal whats-it with the gesture. 'Just – anywhere, I guess.'

Becker carefully sets the components down on a shelf, one by one, trying not to drop anything and accidentally turn reality inside out. Connor dumps the rest on his desk and bends to pick up the coil of copper wiring that had rolled beneath it. They stare awkwardly at one another for a few seconds, until both begin speaking at once.

'Well, I should get really get on this, then, shouldn't I?' Connor mumbles, running a hand through his hair while Becker announces, 'I've – got to get back to my rounds.' Connor nods, and Becker slides the door shut, leaning against the wall just out of sight for a moment.

 _Damn_ , Becker thinks. Of all the stupid things he'd done – and if he started listing them off, he was quite certain he'd never finish before the end of his shift – that definitely ranked right up at the top. Belatedly realising that his rounds actually take him _past_ Connor's office at this point, Becker tries to stroll nonchalantly by without looking inside, but can't even manage to get that right.

Connor stands at his workbench, glancing off to the right-hand corner of the room, running his index finger along his lower lip.

 

The second time really, actually, isn't Becker's fault.

A few months have gone by without any more humiliating incidents, which should have been a warning sign in and of itself. One morning he arrives at the ARC to discover giant red bows, shiny plastic globes, and tinsel strung about everywhere. He finds a glittery candy cane stuck to his weapons locker, and tears it off, crumpling it up and casting it into the waste bin. Pacing into the central hub, he nearly smacks his head against a dangling red paper bell, and notices several more paper trees and shiny foil poms hanging from the wire mesh in the ceiling.

Jess's computer station is wreathed in sparkly cellophane garlands, silver, red and green, and he doesn't know how she even sees the information displayed on her screens through all the mess. There's a pair of reflective golden bells plastered to Lester's door, and tinfoil snowflakes dangling back down the hallway that leads to the menagerie.

'What the hell is going on here?' Becker asks, and several people in the room stop their work to look up in surprise. Jess turns around in her chair and grins at him.

'It's Christmas, silly!' she says, that dopey smile still on her face until she realises he's not smiling back. 'It's all right, isn't it? I mean – you do celebrate Christmas?' She looks uncertain, even a bit worried, and Becker tries to think of something, anything, that won't sound horrible in response. Everyone likes Jess, though he's not entirely certain why, and he'd really be better off without everyone in the building giving him the cold shoulder for offending her delicate sensibilities.

'Not at work,' he manages, the words coming out harsher than he meant, and her face falls. Becker closes his eyes, arms crossed tight across his chest. He sighs, and tries again. 'Look, just – they could be a fire hazard, all right? So try to keep them away from the equipment?' He hears the words echo in his ears, and realises he sounds like a grumpy old codger. Jess nods anyway, and turns back to her monitors, slumping down a bit in her chair.

Becker stalks back to the security centre, and manages not to dislodge the streamers that have taken up residence inside _that_ room, as well.

 

He stays late that night, as usual, checking the perimeter, making sure all the doors are locked that are meant to be, or else some terrifying creature from the depths of time might decide to take a stroll through London. He's about to leave the menagerie and check the upper floors when a small, winged lizard smacks into the glass and attaches itself there, nodding its head back and forth.

'Hullo there, Rex,' Becker says, pressing his fingers to the glass where the lizard's footpads rest on the other side. 'You don't even know what Christmas is, do you?' Rex wiggles his body around until he's completely upside down, staring up at Becker. 'Well, at least Jess didn't destroy your home with ridiculous ribbons and frippery, eh?' Rex flutters his wings in response, licking at the glass before flying away. Once theCoelura – Cholera – Saurusy – once _Rex_ has gone, Becker realises just what he's said. He'd just called the ARC his home.

Becker supposes it's unfortunately true. He spends more time here than he does in his own flat, and it doesn't even bother him that much. At least here, he has a job to do, people to give orders, things to be overseen and occasionally, giant prehistoric monsters to catch. Lives to save. And that's a hell of a lot better than being sat in front of a television alone watching Graham Norton.

He paces back over to the lift and stabs at the upward pointing triangle, surprised when the doors open to reveal Connor Temple inside. He's staring at the panel of numbers, tapping his feet to a song only he can hear. 'You're here late,' Becker comments, and Connor looks up, pulling a set of tiny headphones out of his ears.

'What was that, mate?' he asks as the doors begin to shut.

'Never mind,' Becker replies, but Connor holds the doors open for him.

'I realised a thing I hadn't twigged onto earlier,' Connor says, bouncing slightly on the soles of his feet, 'and it's kind of important, so, thought I ought to get back here and finish it up before I forgot it again.' He gives Becker a lopsided grin as he steps into the lift, and realises they're going to the same floor. Of course they are, Becker thinks. Why wouldn't they be? The universe hates him. Only he'd meant to check the top few research floors next, and then make sure everything was properly stowed away in the Armoury. Again. So perhaps its just down to coincidence, then, and not a lifetime of accumulating bad karma.

He catches a strange reflection in the mirrored doors as the lift begins its sluggish ascent, and he reflexively puts out a hand in front of Connor, who stumbles backward in surprise. One hand on his gun in its holster, Becker slowly raises his eyes to the ceiling and then lets out a curse. 'Oh, for the love of -'

Connor laughs, following his gaze. 'Jess really did get _everywhere_ , didn't she?' he asks, grinning like a loon.

'Not the menagerie,' Becker says with a fair amount of relish.

'Well, yeah, but that's just because the Dracorex would have eaten all the decorations,' Connor rationalises.

'Or her,' Becker adds, before thinking better of it. Connor actually giggles beside him.

'You really don't like Jess very much, do you?' he asks, and Becker wonders for at least the hundredth time why a building so advanced had lifts this slow.

'It's not that I don't _like_ her,' Becker hedges. 'God only knows where Lester found her. She's – very capable at what she does.'

'That's something of an understatement,' Connor comments. 'I'm betting you just don't like the enormous crush she has on you.' Connor pokes him in the side, and Becker leans away.

'What?' he asks, utterly mystified.

'You can't tell me you haven't noticed,' Connor pries, looking at Becker curiously. 'It's not like she's been all subtle about it or anything.' Becker just blinks, and wishes the lift would get to the fifteenth floor already. 'You really haven't,' Connor concludes, a strange sort of understanding dawning across his face. He glances back up at the giant ball of mistletoe hovering above their heads, and gives a slight 'hmm' under his breath.

'D'you think anyone actually watches the lift security feeds?' he asks, thankfully changing the subject, and that's a question Becker can answer.

'Not really,' he sighs. 'They're supposed to, but the only time anyone pays any attention is when something's got loose or there's someone on premises that's not supposed to be -'

'Good,' Connor interrupts him. 'Because, I mean, it is tradition, and all. You can't just fly in the face of that sort of thing. I'm pretty sure it's bad luck.'

'Connor, what on earth are you talking about?' Becker turns to ask as the lift slowly cranks past 13 and takes its sweet time progressing to 14. Connor is standing a good deal closer to him than he was a moment before, his fingers twitching nervously at his sides.

'Come on then,' he says softly. 'For luck,' and leans in to brush his lips against Becker's cheek. Becker sees it coming, tries to move out of range at the last minute but instead Connor's lips end up squarely against his and he freezes. The lift dings and the doors open onto an empty floor. Connor's lips are dry and chapped, but they part willingly against his, and Becker isn't really sure how it happens, but he's suddenly kissing back. Kissing Connor Temple, in the middle of the night, in an lift.

The doors slide shut again after a few seconds, and some of Connor's initial nervousness seems to have abated, because good lord, now his tongue is in Becker's mouth, their lips flowing against one another seamlessly and Becker's hand moves up to the small of Connor's back, drawing him in closer without bothering to ask his mind's permission at all. Connor pulls a hairsbreadth away, sucking in a deep breath of air, his eyes wide and unfocused.

'Didn't really – mean to do that,' Connor mumbles, 'But -' his eyes slide shut while he leans in again and Becker's hand slides halfway up his spine before reality snaps back into place with all the force of a sledgehammer.

'Connor,' he murmurs, struggling to find his breath. 'Don't.' Connor makes a small, hurt sound, and takes a step back, Becker's arm falling uselessly to his side. 'You should - get your work done, and – and then go back home. I'm sure Abby's waiting up for you.'

Connor looks up at him without lifting his head, eyes hazy and unclear only a moment ago now sharp and angry. 'You know what?' He snaps. 'I'm thinking I was wrong about you.' Becker opens his mouth to speak, but Connor holds up one finger to stop his words. 'It's not just Jess, is it? You can't be bothered to notice anything about anyone around here at all.' He jams the button to open the door and stalks out down the empty corridor to his office, leaving Becker alone.

He closes his eyes and leans back against the wall, pressing the button to return to the 10th floor, putting several levels between them. When the doors slide open, he jumps up and tears down the ridiculous decoration from the ceiling, leaving a trail of plastic leaves and chalk white berries in his wake. He tosses it in the rubbish bin and begins the laborious process of cataloging every weapon, its precise location in the Armoury, and every useable round of ammunition they have in storage. Once that's finished, his watch reads 0230 and he decides he might as well just bunk down for what remained of the night in one of the 12th floor hospitality rooms. He could always grab a change of clothes from his locker near the showers in the morning.

 

The third time it happens, Becker honestly doesn't care whose fault it was anymore.

He and Connor agree on a strategy of mutual avoidance after the incident in the lift, and keep to it religiously excepting situations in the field that demand cooperation. If any of the others notice the friction between them, they're wise enough not to comment. Connor spends his days working on a research project no one seems to understand, and Becker stoically marches on, improving building safety, fixing minor breaches, and training new recruits to the security team when they inevitably suffer casualties.

Becker wonders sometimes if he's the only one who knows their names, the soldiers that come and go, those men and women who had lives outside the ARC before some unfortunate disciplinary action landed them in the middle of a secret project no sane person would ever believe existed. He doubts anyone outside his team really cares, either, only serving to make the phone calls to their relatives that much more difficult. He can tell a weeping mother that her child died valiantly, courageously in battle, but not with what, or why it had to happen at all.

 

Christmas comes and goes, with only a minor incursion of three Pachycephalosaurs on the day itself, head-butting it out in the middle of Blackfriar's Bridge. It turns out that most of the team didn't really have any fixed plans anyway, so four of them turn up to herd the dinos back through the anomaly. Becker does note that Abby and Matt arrive in the same car, which takes a vicious beating at the mercy of two angry, territorial herbivores, while Connor rides up late to the party on a mostly functional Vespa.

Connor ends up steering the last Hadrosaur through the portal by revving up his engine to grab its attention, and then wheeling it around to charge headlong at the anomaly before veering away at the last possible moment. He lays down the bike, reaches out to activate the device Becker never even saw him setting up, and gives a loud 'Whoop!' as the gateway shuts behind the creature.

Becker heaves a sigh and thinks that if it's not a Gigantosaurus in the end, then Connor Temple will surely be the death of him instead.

Matt bemoans the state of his Range Rover, and mutters something about sending the bill to Lester. It proves functional enough to drive, however, and the two of them head out nearly as quickly as they arrived, leaving Becker to stow away the EMDs and report back in to the skeleton crew at the ARC with a summary of the situation. He knows a stack of paperwork awaits him back at the hub, and he decides to reward himself for finishing the reports by tearing down every single Christmas decoration he can find, afterward.

He turns around to make sure Connor didn't scrape half his face off against the pavement in his enthusiasm to close the anomaly, and sees him climbing back on the mottled green Vespa, kicking at the starter in a vain effort to make it run. Becker nearly offers to shove it in the back of his SUV and haul it back to the ARC to tinker with it until it runs properly, but he can't seem to get the words past his lips. Connor finally draws a steady purring sound from the engine and pats the bike like a beloved pet, wheeling around and driving off the bridge without a word.

 

Before long, it's the last night of the year, and Becker's sat in the locker room, firmly entrenched in an argument with Connor, who he had quite reasonably assumed would just keep avoiding him at work. Possibly forever.

'But it's New Year's Eve,' Connor says stubbornly, a strangely lost expression on his face.

'Yes', Becker replies, just as stubbornly, lacing up his work boots. 'Congratulations, you can read a calendar. I'm thrilled.' He glances up in annoyance. 'It won't be the first holiday I've spent at work, and probably not the last, either.'

'That's just not right,' Connor comments, shaking his head.

'I'm Head of Security, Connor, I can't just leave my work on the shelf and go home.'

'You do realise you're not actually in the SAS anymore, right?' Connor questions. 'Because I'm pretty sure it's illegal for Lester to not give you a national holiday off from work.'

'One,' Becker answers, 'Yes I am, and two, he only has to give me the _option_ to take a holiday.'

'So why not take it?' Connor responds. 'Why not, just for one night out of the year?'

'Anomalies never take a day off,' Becker snipes back. 'What if a T-Rex decides it's a great night to smash through Cardinal Place, or terror birds rampage across Trafalgar Square because the fireworks scare the shit out of them?'

Connor side-eyes him and raises one eyebrow. 'You do know there are other teams, right?'

Becker throws his hands in the air. 'Yes, other teams that need to be coordinated and properly dispatched, particularly when Jess is off drinking champagne and ringing in the new year!'

'Becker, believe me, I know you're the best at what you do, but the ARC can run for twenty four hours without you.' Connor thumps his shoulder, and Becker flinches involuntarily. 'You're not some kind of Cyberman, they can't expect you to be on duty every minute of every day.'

Becker ignores the Doctor Who reference, irrationally annoyed that he understands it, and thinks to himself _that's what a soldier does_.

'And besides,' Connor continues, oblivious to Becker's train of thought. 'There's no way Lester's paying you that much overtime.'

Becker decides to ignore the comment about his salary, addressing the earlier point instead. 'I'm not a robot, Connor. I do sleep, and I take time off when I have to. I'm just not taking any today.'

'Well, you should do.' Connor says childishly, arms crossed over his chest.

'Connor, why is it so important that I go to this stupid party?' Becker asks, tilting his head back to look him in the face.

'It's not stupid,' Connor retorts, sticking his hands in his pockets. 'So why is it so important that you avoid it like you've been avoiding -' he cuts off the sentence, glancing somewhere above Becker's head.

Becker's shifts his jaw, thrown a bit by what Connor hadn't quite said. 'I've never really cared for the holidays,' he replies, after a moment. 'Besides, it's quiet when you lot are gone. I can actually get some work done in peace.'

Connor seems to recognise the dismissal in Becker's words. He turns to leave, adding over his shoulder, 'All right, but should you get bored, or – or lonely, or something, you know, here all by yourself, mostly in the dark, hearing creepy sounds out of the menagerie –'

'Connor!" Becker sighs in exasperation. 'Go home.' He makes shooing motions with his hands and Connor turns back around.

'You've got the address,' Connor calls, already halfway to the lift.

 

Becker putters around the ARC for a while, looking in on the menagerie as usual, checking in with all units on patrol, and sits down at the chair in front of the frankly mind-boggling mass of screens that Jess manipulates daily with ease. The desk smells faintly of perfume and nail polish, and Becker wrinkles his nose. There's no sign of trouble that he can see, not anywhere on the map, and he rocks back in the chair, propping his feet up on the steel plating.

The building is silent around him, most of the lights gone dark, and his mind conjures up memories of disastrous holidays past, before he followed the family legacy to Sandhurst and ended up married to the military. While most of the other students had gone home over vacation, he had usually chosen to stay behind, taking extra turns around the courses, studying up for the next term. He'd never much minded the empty, echoing corridors, eating meals alone in his room, and after a while Becker pretended he enjoyed the silence as well. It was just easier that way than facing the chaos that awaited him at home.

He stares up at the ceiling, spying a single silver snowflake caught in the grating that had somehow managed to evade capture during his post-Hadrosaur destruction spree. It catches the glow from the computer screens, reflecting back a kaleidoscope of blue and green lights that skitter up the walls and roam about the floor. The silence grows heavy, a physical weight on Becker's shoulders, and he thinks about that night in the lift, thinks about what might have happened if he had paid more attention to the living, breathing people in his life instead of their shadows. If he had the courage to live in the present, instead of building shrines to an irretrievable past.

'Fuck it,' he says aloud, and sits up in the chair with a snap. He calls in on all frequencies, signing out for the night, and tells Rogers that he's in charge for the remainder of the shift. If the man is surprised in the least by the last minute assignation, he doesn't give any sign. _Too well trained for that_ , Becker thinks, and heads for the locker room in the hopes that he has a decent shirt stashed somewhere.

He manages to find a dark blue button down that looks all right with a slightly wrinkled pair of jeans. His boots are the only shoes he keeps at the ARC, but at least they're polished. He digs through his phone for the text Connor sent him with the address, and heads down to the car park, hoping this isn't a terrible mistake.

 

Becker manages to find a shop that's still open and buys a good quality bottle of champagne before continuing the drive to Connor's new flat. He wonders when Connor had moved in, or Abby had moved out, whichever had been the case. Becker wonders about a lot of things before pulling up at the address, a recently renovated tower that rises up around the surrounding buildings in an otherwise industrial district. He parks in a space on the bottom level of the structure, and pushes the button for the lift. Connor's address is 10-308, and Becker assumes that means he lives on the top floor.

Nice digs, Becker thinks, if you can get them. Much nicer than his flat, at any rate, though with his salary and added hazard pay, he could probably rent a room in Buckingham Palace if he wanted. He can hear the music spilling out into the corridor when the lift stops, classic jazz numbers that he actually knows instead of the sort of ridiculous techno nonsense he had always assumed Connor would appreciate. The door is slightly cracked, but he knocks anyway, and Connor pulls it the rest of the way open with a curious expression on his face. When he sees Becker, standing awkwardly in the hall, clutching a bottle to his chest, he bursts into a grin.

'You made it!' he shouts, and takes him by the arm, leading him inside. Connor's flat is spacious, with high ceilings and packed to the gills with high tech gear. There are retro styled posters framed on the walls advertising imaginary locations; Persephone, Coruscant, and Minas Tirith to name a few. A giant television dominates one wall, and Abby and Matt sit together on the end of a semicircular yellow couch, laughing and elbowing one another as they play some sort of video game. The couch winds around a triangular hearth, covered by a pipe that extends up to the roof, and the door to what looks like a balcony off to the left has been left barely open. He recognises Duncan, sitting glumly in an armchair that's been pulled over to a corner next to a tall plant, and wonders idly if the boy thinks he's hiding. Several of the Research and Development team are present, taking sides in the gaming competition, and Jess looks up from her chair at the brushed chrome kitchen table and favours him with a smile, before letting Emily resume combing her hair into some sort of old fashioned bun that involves a lot of braiding. The layout is open, and no one seems to feel particularly crowded as they wander about.

A short set of metal stairs leads up to a half loft, where Becker assumes Connor sleeps, and lets his thoughts stop there. Connor takes the bottle from his hands, and sets it down on the shiny black work top, stopping for a moment to glance down at the label. He looks up, surprised, and says 'We really do need to discuss your salary sometime,' before leading him over to the fire pit.

'We were just about to roast marshmallows,' Duncan pipes up from the corner, and of course they were. What else would anyone do at Connor Temple's flat at 11:30 on New Year's Eve besides play video games and roast marshmallows to go with their champagne? Becker smiles at the thought, and realises it's been a very, very long time since he's actually felt anything approximating happiness.

Connor races back and forth, gathering an armful of ingredients, before shoving a handful of thin metal pokers at Becker. 'Sorry,' he quips. 'I just figured our resident safety expert should be the one to hand these out.' He rolls his eyes, but Connor just winks and Becker ends up with an armful of what seem to be bent out of shape coat hangers.

Abby gives a triumphant shout, beating Matt at whatever sort of racing game they were playing, and reaches out for a poker. Becker dutifully doles them out, while Connor tosses a few bags of marshmallows into the crowd. Connor hands him two marshmallows before the bags are empty, and he pulls back the screen in a few places to let the pokers through. Becker looks around the room, seeing nothing but genuinely happy faces, and suddenly understands why it was so important to Connor that he show up. He impales both marshmallows on the coat hanger, and jams the stick into the fire pit with the rest of them, pulling them out before they can blacken and burn.

Duncan's predictably catch on fire, and melt into hissing puddles of goo that land among the coals and split logs. Connor shakes his head, laughing, and kindly swaps out their sticks. Duncan happily eats the substitute sweets, blackened just enough around the edges to be crunchy. Matt tries to steal one from Abby, and she fights him back with her coat hanger, setting off an unfortunate series of mock duels around the room.

'I have light sabers, you know!' Connor announces. 'In case anyone wants to take this up a notch.' His statement is met with laughter, but Becker would bet good money that it's true. Jess and Emily seem to have vanished, but emerge a few minutes later from the bathroom, having swapped clothes and hairstyles. Jess appears every inch the young Victorian lady, and Emily seems to be enjoying her ponytail, short red dress, and red bangle earrings immensely, not to mention the matching four-inch heels. Matt blinks in shocked silence for a moment, before Abby elbows him in the ribcage and he splutters out a cough.

Becker can see how the two of them must have come together, even if he hadn't noticed at first. They're both creatures driven by instinct, and born leaders, besides. Matt and Abby are the sort of people that can make split-second, difficult decisions and then follow through. To be honest, he'd never seen how Connor could be Abby's type in the first place. She'd only gravitated towards him when he'd done something particularly heroic, something for  _her_ , and afterward he'd watched her regard gradually fall away. Still, he knows her rejection must have hurt Connor deeply, knows it from Connor's sharp rebuke in the lift and Becker forces down the rush of anger that threatens to fill him at the thought. She'd never quite seen the bravery and genius in Connor that Becker sees when he looks at him, which really is far too often.

Connor settles down on the floor next to Becker, watching him bite into a perfectly browned marshmallow with something approaching envy. Becker pulls the second one off the hanger and hands it over to Connor, who just opens his mouth wide. Becker hesitates for a moment before placing it on his tongue, and watching it disappear into Connor's mouth with extremely inappropriate fascination. He hazards a glance around the room, but no one else seems to have noticed the exchange, too busy flipping the telly over to BBC1 for the New Year's countdown. The screen shows a rotating aerial view of the lights across the city, hovering around Big Ben and the Eye, overdubbed by commentary that no one seems to care much about. Becker glances back and notes Connor's smirk, a small patch of cream left at the corner of his mouth. He reaches out to wipe it away without thinking, and the smirk disappears, replaced by a curious and calculating expression Becker knows all too well.

He clambers to his feet and heads to the balcony, thinking a rush of cool air might clear his head. He can still hear the faint sounds of music from inside, Ivy Benson and Inet Miles, mixed with Billie Holiday and Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong's duets. A snowflake settles on his hand where it rests on the railing, followed by another, and before long a thin veil of snow is floating gently down to the city below. Connor slips out onto the balcony behind him, but hangs back a few steps.

'I'm glad you stopped by tonight,' he says quietly, at the same time as Becker says, 'Look, it's actually snowing!' Connor moves to stand beside him, huffing out a breath that lingers, frozen as a cloud in mid-air.

'I'm glad I came, too,' Becker acknowledges, staring out across the brightly lit city. 'Holidays with my family were always...difficult,' he explains, or tries to. 'I have an older sister, who always did everything wrong, and – and I had a younger brother, Thomas, but -' Becker looks down at the sheer drop to the street below.

He bites the bullet and answers the question Connor hasn't asked, suddenly wanting to tell the story. He'd never confessed this particular failing to anyone, but watching the show drift lazily past, Becker suddenly needs Connor to know. 'There was a pond behind our house, and in the winter we'd go ice skating. One year over the Holiday, when Thomas was nine and I was twelve, he went out too far – the ice wasn't thick enough in the middle, and he fell through. I couldn't get to him in time. I was heavier, and the ice just kept cracking and - ' He breaks off, his voice unsteady.

'There was nothing you could have done,' Connor tells him, and for the first time, it feels like absolution. 'How did you even get out yourself?'

'I'm not really sure,' Becker answers. 'I just kept diving under the water, looking for him, and eventually I ended up on the opposite side. I don't know how many times I went back in before my father pulled me out, sat me on the shore. Told me Thomas was gone.' Snowflakes catch and gather in his hair, but he doesn't brush them away.

'Mum couldn't handle it, and Dad moved away. She remarried after a while, had the twins, and sort of forgot she still had two older children. Billie did everything she could to rebel, so I felt like...'

'You had to do everything right,' Connor finishes for him, following his glance out across the Thames in the distance. Connor's slender fingers are wrapped tight around his on the cold railing, and Becker wonders when exactly that happened.

'My father graduated with honours as a Medical Officer,' Becker continues, nodding along with Connor's guess. 'My grandfather was named a Royal Engineer. You can see what was expected of me, as the eldest son. What I had to atone for with the rest of my life.'

'And here you are, shooting dinosaurs for a living,' Connor jibes to lighten the mood, handing him a flute of champagne from his free hand. 'Your family must be very proud.'

Becker scoffs, and takes a deep drink from the glass. 'Hey,' Connor complains. 'You can't drink that yet, it's not even midnight!' Becker hears the countdown from the telly, less than thirty seconds to go, and mutters, 'Close enough.'

Connor shoots him a glare, and bends down to pick up his glass from the cement, downing half the liquid in disgruntled solidarity. 'There,' he says. 'Now we're even.'

'Not hardly,' Becker replies. 'What about your family?'

Connor doesn't say anything for a moment, then turns around to take in the group scattered about his living room. 'You're looking at them,' he says quietly. ''S why I wanted to throw a holiday party this year. Figure it's better than being alone.' Connor shrugs, watching the countdown through the glass. Everyone inside begins to cheer along with the crowd, and Becker realises he can hear the same sounds echoing all the way from the river.

'Is that why you invited me?' Becker asks, setting down his glass to reach out for Connor's arm, and Connor turns around to face him.

'No,' he answers slyly, as if Becker were wearing a dunce cap. The crowd cheers down the last five seconds until the new year officially begins, and Becker watches Connor's face shift in the reflected light. 'I asked you over so I could do this,' he says, pushing Becker back against the balcony and kissing him as the fireworks explode high overhead. Becker wraps his arm around Connor's waist and pulls him close against the cold, lips moving softly over Connor's mouth. Connor sighs against him, refusing to give up his steady hold on Becker's fingers, while his left hand works its way up to Becker's cheek.

The fireworks flicker out and die long before they pull apart, but Connor jumps at the sound of champagne corks popping from inside his living room. 'I could use some more champagne,' Becker says a bit nervously, picking up his glass from the concrete overhang and polishing off the rest. 'How about you?'

Connor smiles shyly and empties his glass as well. 'Cheers?' he questions, clinking his empty glass against Becker's.

'Absolutely,' Becker answers, the warmth from inside the flat wrapping around him as he comes in from the cold.

 

 

_The way a crow shook down on me_

_The dust of snow from a hemlock tree_

_Has given my heart a change of mood_

_And saved some part of a day I had rued._

\- Robert Frost 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much to dreamingofawolf for all the beta help! It was greatly appreciated.
> 
> Also I'm sorry for publishing a holiday fic in May, that's just how the words came out. Whoops?


End file.
